Page 35 of Locked & Loaded

Wait, what?

“—but I’d like to date you.”

I blink.

The word hangs in the air between us.

Date.

Not forget this happened. Not keep it casual. Not figure it out as we go. Not any of the careful little exit ramps I expected.

Date.

My heart does something deeply concerning behind my ribs. A double beat, fast and hard.

“Date me?” I repeat.

He nods, his eyes wide and openly nervous, which is so far from his usual deadpan I almost don’t recognize him.

“Yes,” he says. Then, softer, hesitant: “If that’s what you’d want too.”

He’s blushing. Mads Holm is actually blushing, color creeping across his cheekbones, and I watch it happen in real time like I’m witnessing a natural phenomenon. A solar eclipse. The aurora borealis. Mads Holm, embarrassed.

I blink, still not convinced I haven’t dreamed this up.

“What?”

The word comes out flat. Stupid.

Mads flushes deeper. His eyes drop to the carpet, and his shoulders tense. “I’m sorry if this is too soon—”

“No,” I say quickly. “I mean—you sort of just realized you’re bisexual. So I didn’t expect you to…you know. Take it so seriously.”

I’ve said the wrong thing. I know it the second the words leave my mouth. I hear how it sounds. Like I think this means less because it’s new for him. Like I’m treating whatever he’s feeling as some temporary confusion he’ll grow out of by lunch.

Then Mads’s eyes go glassy, and for one awful second I think he might actually cry. The possibility is so far outside the realm of things I thought I would ever witness that I panic.

Fuck.

I reach for him before I can think about it. I wrap my arms around him, one hand sliding to the back of his neck, and he lets me pull him in. His forehead drops to my shoulder.

For a second, I just hold him there, my hand moving over the warm skin at the nape of his neck, because whatever I meant to say, he heard rejection. And that is the last thing I want him to hear from me right now.

“Hey,” I say into his hair. “I lied to you last night.”

Mads goes still. Then his head lifts, and his eyes find mine, wary and red-rimmed.

“About what?”

“About the ‘used to’ part.” I smile at him, the words coming easier than I expected. “I still have a crush on you. I just didn’t want to sound pathetic.”

For a beat, he only looks at me, like he’s afraid to believe it too fast. Then something shifts in his face, and I see it.

Hope, careful but unmistakable.

“You do?” he says.

“Yes.” I run my thumb along his jaw, and he leans into the touch like a cat. “And what you just said about wanting to date me—” My face goes hot. “Are you serious?”